


Shifting Sand

by janiex98



Category: Bellarke - Fandom, The 100, cw - Fandom, the hundred - Fandom
Genre: Alcoholism, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Grieving, Roadtrip, Sexual Tension, bed sharing, mentions of past sexual abuse, nude bathing, slowburn, trigger warning for suicidal thoughts, triggerwarning for self harm, wishlist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-03 06:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janiex98/pseuds/janiex98
Summary: Clarke's girlfriend dies and she finds a bucket list that her and Bellamy try to go through with. Hate--> Friendship--> Love





	1. Chapter 1

Normal. The day Clarke Griffin's life began to change was unspectacular and routine, and if that fateful day had not ended the way it had ended, Clarke probably would not have remembered that day, let alone what she'd done.  
But now she remembered every little detail.  
Her cell phone ringtone that woke her up early in the morning, ironically was called "I'm a survivor“ which Clarke had downloaded not too long ago, after learning that the song would serve as a soundtrack for the new Tomb Raider movie. Lexa and her had intended to watch it as soon as possible, as both films loved with strong independent female lead roles above everything else; but by the fact that they both had too much on their hands in the last few weeks, they had not got around to it yet. And they never would.

She also remembered the little white-black Jack Russel Terrier she had caressed on the way to the Institute of Design, the university she visited, and how rough his little pink tongue had felt on her hand.

But although Clarke could remember all this, that normal day was overshadowed by the evening. The evening changed everything. The mobile phone call that changed everything. Bellamy's dark voice at the other end of the line, which she struggled to understand at first, as he could hardly bring out a complete sentence through his eternally echoing sobs and his loud quick breaths.  
The voice that told her that Lexa, the love of her life, lost her life on a cold operating table, dazzled by the light of the round lamps above her; completely alone.   
All living beings are alone. All living beings are alone. All living beings are alone. Lexa died alone.  
Without anyone holding her tender hands. Without that, she had the opportunity to say goodbye.  
She and Clarke had talked about famous parting words about three months ago and philosophized about them, but also made fun of some of them.  
Clarke did not know what Lexa was thinking before she was rammed by a red rusty pick-up and died a little later in the hospital.  
She did not know what final words formed her full lips without knowing that these would be the last ones she uttered.  
"Love you, baby," was the last sentence Clarke heard from her girlfriend before she left her apartment for the last time and forgot her door key on the dresser in the hallway.  
They both made a joke out of giving each other the dullest, clichéd, or most creative nicknames in their three or so years of relationship, and secretly made fun of couples who used them with great sincerity. But actually, both had somehow liked these nicknames and what started out of sheer amusement became routine.

Clarke had met Lexa on a Saturday afternoon in October three years ago. In a poetry slam evening of amateurs who were not yet famous enough to stand on a larger stage. Clarke had then taken the S-Bahn to the bar "Polis", where these performances took place, inspired by a book by Colleen Hoover, in which the male character participated in poetry slam evenings and recited his texts with such depth and honesty, that the female character only fell in love with him more.  
Clarke would never have thought that she would get to know someone there herself, because she had come there driven by her love for good lyrics, metaphors and the profound stories of other strangers.  
She had needed a distraction, because shortly before it had turned out that her first boyfriend, Finn, was cheating with her on his real girlfriend Raven, making her the reason of a broken heart. However, Raven had not resented this incident, but rather tried to make her heartache fade by passing male acquaintances and became friends with Clarke on the side.

Lexa had come on stage as the penultimate, with a steely, penetrating gaze that seemed to look Clarke straight in the eye, giving her goose bumps. Frozen, Clarke had looked fascinated at the lips of this strange girl and had absorbed all her words like a sponge.  
These words that described the human body in an artistic way.  
These words that gave her inner voices their own voice.  
These words that talked about growing up.  
And talking about their own sexuality and identity with alternating velvety and harsh voice, with which Clarke himself could identify perfectly.

Maybe it was not necessarily love at first sight but it was damn close.  
Clarke knew right away that she needed to get to know this person and only a few weeks later she and Lexa had been together and could not keep their hands off each other. Skin to skin. Nerve to nerve. Soul to soul.  
And now, loss. And the constant, burning pain that seemed to eat her from the inside and made her feel unable to breathe.  
The oxygenic photosynthesis of the many different plants that Lexa had loved so much did not help Clarke to breathe,

Because.it.was.not.Oxygen.that.she.needed.


	2. Chapter 2

While planning the funeral, Clarke felt numb and had the feeling that she had completely lost the concept of time. Her arms moved mechanically as she reached for the phone to make the necessary preparations and hire a good funeral home. Clarke regretted never talking with Lexa about how she wanted to be buried, but she also had no idea how much she’ll need this information later.  
Ultimately, Clarke decided on a tree burial, since Lexa had always been a nature-loving person.  
Clarke described herself as an atheist. She didn’t believe in a higher power, not in a god, and not in the very existence of a soul.  
Humans functioned only through the neuron networks in the brain, which gave them a sense of „self-conscious" and gave them the illusion that they were the most superior beings on planet Earth.  
Clarke had always been a realist, a bit cynical from time to time, but also a person who could translate well into other people and socialize easily.  
Lexa was the exact opposite; though she had always been, like Clarke, a practical thinker who rarely acted impulsively and had to plan everything carefully to maintain the sense of control, but she also had far more difficulty than Clarke in making contacts. Lexa had often looked cold and unemotional on others, but the more she got to know her, the more she opened up, exposing everything pent-up and hidden in her, even her weaknesses, which she had so desperately tried to hide. In this aspect, Clarke and Lexa resembled each other. They both were afraid of emotional closeness, and of being dependent on one person.  
So Lexa had only a small number of people she was close to, but those were deep friendships, not superficial ones.  
There was Gustus, the pastor from the church in their city. Unlike Clarke, Lexa had always had a hold on her Christian beliefs, which had initially easily daunted Clarke, but fortunately Lexa was a person who accepted the belief or non-belief of others and did not care if her girlfriend shared the same beliefs as her.

There was Indra, whom she had met at the Hamburg Christoffer Street Day a few years ago, a self-assured young woman who was loudly in favor of her own opinion. For her people had respect. She was the fire and the others the matches, locked up in their little box, until Indra instigated the rebellion and set them on fire. Metaphorically speaking at least.

 

And then there was Bellamy. Bellamy Blake. Lexa's best friend.  
It was still a mystery to Clarke why Bellamy had been Lexa's best friend because she could not stand him. At all.  
He had always treated her from above, searching for errors through his prejudices in every sentence she had pronounced so that he could continue to judge her. And Clarke really liked everyone, but people like Bellamy Blake, who did everything they could to make her feel bad, she didn’t like. She had something against people who had something against her and showed her their feelings towards her instead of just pretending to like her just for the sake of being polite. Lexa had always told her that Bellamy had his reasons to treat her that way, but that this was his story to tell, not hers;  
but Clarke doubted there was anything that justified his behavior towards her.  
Bellamy Blake had grown up in the same skyscraper as Lexa. On the same floor. Both apartment doors facing each other. When they met, Bellamy was seven years old and Lexa Six.  
One day, Bellamy found a small dog outside their front door, who seemed to have no owner, and although no pet was allowed in the house, he took the dog to his apartment. But just as he wanted to enter his apartment with the dog in tow, he heard the creaking of a door behind him, startled and whirled around suddenly. And there was Lexa, head cocked, a confused look, and a nutella-smeared mouth. When she saw the dog, her lips twisted into a sincere smile and she approached Bellamy to pet the dog afterwards. "Come on," she called to the black-curled boy and pointed in the direction of her apartment. "My parents are not home, we could hide him in my room."  
And so they did. They built a small cave of blankets and pillows to play with the dog and hide in it and became friends naturally. The smell of urine, however, made her parents come to her room after they got home and yell at Lexa over the soiled new carpet polluted the dog's puddle. On the same day, the rightful owner had contacted them and had taken his dog, causing Lexa to cry and making Bellamy comfort her.  
Since that day, the two had been inseparable, which is why Clarke usually moved into her bedroom to hide when Bellamy visited Lexa in her apartment.

 

On the day of the funeral, it was rainy to match the mood of the few mourners, and Clarke’s shoes sank into the muddy soil every step she took across the cemetery. As she came closer to the redbrick building on the edge, she realized that it did not look like a normal church, but just like a rectangular block with stained-glass windows.  
She was not dressed in anything festive or black, wearing plain jeans and the green hoodie Lexa used to wear often, which still smelled of her.   
Lexa wouldn’t want everyone in black dresses or suits with their tear-wet faces. But nevertheless, Clarke did regret not having put on anything else because now she stood out like a colorful bird among the guests, and attention was just the last thing she wanted. All guests came with a partner or at least one family member; only Clarke came alone. Because the remains of her at other events accompaniment, were stowed away in the biodegradable urn that stood on an illuminated altar. How depressing. Overwhelmed, she looked for a suitable place that gave her the opportunity to hide better in the crowd. The voices of the guests and the sounds of their footsteps were far too loud, but at the same time dull and incomprehensible, and all Clarke wanted was to make herself small like an embryo and curl up on one of the white pews and hide inside the huge hoodie so nobody could look at her anymore. Instead she went to the benches in the back without paying attention to her surroundings, trying to keep breathing and not to start panicking. Her shoulders trembled and she feared that her body would be torn to pieces by the vibrations. She first noticed that her tears ran incessantly over her face when a big, strong hand took hers and squeezed hers. She did not look up, but kept her gaze on the floor and squeezed back, concentrating on the firm pressure and the skin-on-skin feel so she wouldn’t lose her connection to reality while being shaken by sobs. Her sobs were quiet, she never has been a loud person while crying, but she still felt the noises coming from her mouth ccutting the silence around her, though everyone kept talking and ignoring her; only the person next to her gave her a grip and held the thin thread on which she was still hanging, which saved her from completely collapsing.

Clarke had not prepared a speech because, as one of her favorite authors had written in one of his books, ‚funerals are not for the dead, but for the living.‘  
And Clarke did not want to pass on any of her precious memories of Lexa to others, because  
these were hers and Lexa alone.  
The speech of Gustus, the pastor, paid no attention to her and she did not listen to the other speeches. Clarke just focused on counting in her head, that she could go home right away and leave everything behind.  
She just wanted to get out of here.  
But secretly she knew it was not so easy. Her home was no longer a home without Lexa. And the burial had been far more expensive than expected, since only a few cemeteries offered this kind of burial. Clarke had no idea how she would continue to pay the apartment rent, since she and Lexa had shared the expenses and they barely even had enough together.  
Although she just wanted to be alone at the moment, she was terrified of it. If the urn disappeared under the tree roots, everything would become reality. And when Clarke would enter their shared apartment alone, it would be like a bucket of ice-cold water poured over her head, because immediately everything that happened would hit her again and the realization that she was alone now, would cut her like a sharp blade.  
Clarke looked at her now sweaty hand, which still clutched the stranger's hand, and released it. The stranger's hand was almost white in some places, as Clarke had stopped the blood supply by clinging; but now the redness of the blood coming back colored his hand again.  
"I'm really sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse because of the crying, which startled her because she had barely spoken the last few days and her voice sounded strangely alien to her.  
„It’s okay. I think we both needed that kind of comfort.,“ she heard a familiar voice. Her head shot up and she looked straight into the brown eyes of none other than Bellamy Blake. His face was also swollen from crying, and his hair was uncoiffed and fell in wild curls over his head and face. For the first time, Clarke noticed the freckles in his face and his long black eyelashes, which still contained drops of spilled tears. As she did, he looked as if he had not slept for days, as indicated by his thick dark circles and red-swollen eyes. "Why are you so surprised to see me here, Princess, do you think I would not come to the funeral of my best friend, I can not miss this event," his joyless voice dripped with sarcasm.  
"No, it does not surprise me, neither does your tactlessness and your attempt with humor and sarcasm to hide your grief," she answers.  
"This is the only and best way to deal with grief and negative feelings, maybe you should try it."  
"Wow, did your therapist tell you that? Sorry, but I think I’ll pass.“  
"No, that was on page 7 article 2 in the „How to overcome the loss of a loved one“ - Self-Help Book I'm currently reading."  
"Haha, I am surprised that you can read at all."  
„Why? Because I grew up in other social circles than you, Princess?"  
Of course Bellamy had to mention her rich family as he always did. Even tho he knew that Clarke hasn’t had contact with her mother for over a year now.  
But the conversation between her and Bellamy distracted her in a positive way and made her feel normal.  
She looked at him with Annoyance and saw a sad smile forming on Bellamy’s lips, but she wasn’t so sure.  
For some reason, she felt like he was distracting himself from Lexa's death by talking to her. Listening to each other's voice was their remaining connection to Lexa, and at that moment, both Bellamy and Clarke felt a strange connection.

The proper burial after the service passed by comparatively quickly, and out here she also got far better air than inside in the crowdy church.  
A man stood with a burning lantern and the urn in his arm next to the tree selected by Clarke, said a few words and then let the urn disappear between the roots of the tree. Clarke felt strangely emotionless as she stood there, and she did not feel the autumnal cold brushing her face.  
Silently, she started at the spot where the urn had disappeared and did not notice how the time passed and that she and Bellamy were the only ones still standing there.  
Looking up, Bellamy had already focused his intense gaze on her, causing Clarke to wrap her arms around her body as if she was afraid she would break apart. Apparently, Bellamy concluded that she was cold and pulled off his jacket without much thought and handed it to her. "Thanks," Clarke whispered, sincerely.  
"Not worth mentioning," Bellamy whispered back, his lips tightening.They both fell silent for a while, but it was a pleasant silence as both reveled in their memories and tried to fade out the outside world.  
Then Bellamy broke the silence.   
„A few days ago I thought about so much stuff that I wanted to tell her, so many things I regretted never telling her, and now I'm standing here and I can not think of anything. It just seems so useless, she’s gone and no word will change that. "  
Clarke nodded and understood exactly what he meant. "It's kind of macabre to think about how recyclable we humans are, we come from nature and become nature again, we are eaten by worms and serve as organic fertilizers for the environment, which will be the first time in our lives where we make something useful and gives meaning to our existence. "  
"Wow," Bellamy coughed slightly. "You're probably the center of every party, right?“  
"I would not really call the funeral a party, and if it is, it’s a pretty bad one, but I can assure you that if I have enough alcohol consumed, then I'm a pretty great party guest.“  
Bellamy chuckled and without a word held out a green, half-empty champagne bottle.  
Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Where did you get that from?"  
"I hid it in my cool bicycle bag," he pointed to the on the ground laying black bag. "I think without him I would not have managed it today."  
"That's a really cool bike bag," Clarke replied in an ironic undertone, taking the bottle out of Bellamy's hands. "That's what I need now, thank you."  
Silently, Bellamy watched Clarke take a few long sips and then picked up the bottle again. Her hands touched for a brief moment and that short, gentle touch calmed Clarke, as did the inner warming liquid she was swallowing.  
For the next half hour, Bellamy and Clarke stood close to each other, silently handing the bottle between them. At that moment, as an individual, they allowed themselves time to mourn and reminisce properly, and this helped them to start coping with their loss.  
When the bottle was empty, Bellamy broke the silence a second time. "I think I should go home now, Octavia is waiting for me and she's probably been trying to cook and burned the food as usual and I do not want to risk my flat completely burning down in my absence, you know."  
Clarke nodded and before she could change her mind, she hugged Bellamy and buried her face in the space between the neck and shoulder. "Thanks for the distraction today," she whispered.  
Bellamy had been undecided and tense for a moment, but then relaxed and returned her hug. His curls tickled her skin.  
"No problem, the bottle wasn’t that expensive.“  
"You know what I mean."  
„Yes, I know that, and I can only tell you the exact same thing, I think we both needed this, I still do not like you very- "  
"I can only give that back, Blake."  
"-but if you know... you want to talk ... you can call me, okay?"  
"Okay," Clarke smiled to herself and broke away from the hug.  
"See you," Bellamy put his hands in his pockets and left.  
With each step he moved farther away from her, Clarke began to feel increasingly lonely.  
Without thinking too much, she dialed the number on her cell phone, which she had not called for a long time.  
As she listened to the beeping, she noticed that she was still wearing Bellamy's jacket, but quickly pushed the thought away. She would take care of that when she got home.  
The longer it beeped at the other end of the line, the more panicked Clarke became, but when she finally heard the familiar voice, she let out a breath of relief and said in a strangled voice  
"Mom?"  
and burst into tears for the second time that day, only this time Bellamy's hand was out of reach.  
"Mom, I need you, can you pick me up?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes. English is not my mother tongue. :) I hope you like it so far.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke goes to a party and does a huge mistake.  
> Trigger Warning: Mentions of Suicide Attempt and Slight Self-Harm.

Clarke did not see Bellamy until two weeks after the funeral. It was Octavia's birthday, to which she was surprisingly invited by the birthday child herself.  
Clarke did not know Octavia really well, though she knew that she was Bellamys little sister and had a girlfriend named Nyilah.  
She had often talked to her at some previous parties and had also found her to be very nice and talkative, but when she was drunk, she often thought to have found a good friend in one person, a soulmate even, and when she was sober the next time she met that person she pretended to not know who it was. But it was a mutual thing. That’s just how it works.

Clarke sat on the elegant leather couch in the Griffin family's living room when her cell phone beeped and she received the invitation from Octavia. She had not even left the property for the last two weeks and had only stepped out of the front door twice to help her stepfather Kane to bring the groceries he bought inside.  
She stared uncertainly at the news, which her mother, who was eating in the kitchen, noticed, and made her look at her daughter with a questioning glare.  
"A friend of mine celebrates her birthday today and invited me," Clarke explained.  
"Oh that's nice- and, are you going?"  
"I do not think so, I do not feel like being around people and pretending to be fine, as if 2 1/2 weeks are enough to get over it."  
„Of course, I understand what you mean, but maybe it will distract you and help you being around friends. I’m not saying that it will make you feel good in the long term, but at least you will have the opportunity to get some normality back to life on this one evening. "  
"So you think I should repress it and forget it?"  
"I did not say that, and you know that Clarke."  
Clarke sighed. Her mother was right and she knew what she was talking about.  
Her father's heart had stopped beating after a long battle with cancer when Clarke was only 9 years old and her mother had lost her first love. When Clarke called her mother after three years without any contact two weeks ago, Abby had come immediately and hugged her.   
In that moment, the argument that they have had in the past became completely meaningless and stupid, and she was just happy to be in the protective arms of her mother, who gave her a sense of security.  
When she arrived at the house where she had spent half of her life, it was as if she had never been away. Everything in this place evoked memories of her childhood - both painful and happy. When she looked at her familyphotos on the wall in the entrance and looked at her father, she had to swallow and she wondered why actually all the people she loved had to leave her. Finally a thing that she and her mother had in common.

"Alright, you're right, I'm going."  
"I'm happy, and when things really do not work out and you do not feel well, you can still come home, I leave my phone on all night, and if you need me, or if I should pick you up, call me . Okay dear?"  
Clarke smiled and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Thanks, Mum."

 

Now she stood in front of Octavia's apartment door on the third floor of a rather dilapidated skyscraper and stared at the door. On the floor was a doormat with a large loading bar on it, like a computer. Under other circumstances, Clarke might have found this design funny, but instead she just stood there with her hand held high and stopped in front of the bell button. She already regretted that she had come. Normally, she would have drunk at home to make her feel better, but it had already been too late to buy alcohol, and besides, she would have probably panicked at the sight of a supermarket, feeling the flashy lights on her and feeling watched.  
Clarke tried to breathe more calmly, and not to hyperventilatie, and quickly pressed the button before she could think twice. Her heart pounded in her chest and when no one came, she rang again. The music came through the door, and Clarke was worried that no one would hear her, but secretly she hoped a little that this would be the case.  
Suddenly the door was torn open and Octavia stood in front of her. Her dark brown long hair was disheveled and her brown eyes lit up. She wore a cropped leather top and under that her taut, muscular belly peeked out, beneath that she wore tight navy blue skinny jeans and shiny silver chucks.  
There had been days when Clarke wanted to be like Octavia. But she was not as confident as she was. Not so athletic. Not so rebellious.  
Octavia always did everything she wanted; Her motto was, "Rules are there to be broken," and she acted impulsively, not thinking of the consequences, which had often gotten her into trouble. She attended a fencing class, went to boxing and participated in demonstrations. Later, when she was gray-haired, Octavia would probably say that she had no regrets and had lived her life. Whether Clarke herself could say so in the future was beyond her grasp. She had always had a plan, and only then, when she had resisted her mother, did she begin to go her own way. Art instead of medicine. Nevertheless, she had never traveled far and never belonged to the spontaneous group of people.  
Octavia grinned at her, took Clarke's arm and pulled her into the filled room.  
In the background there was loud music from „SIXTN“, a german group of two female rappers, and some of the guests sang along loudly.  
Clarke wondered how so many people fit into the three-room apartment.  
„I was not sure if you would come, "Octavia took Clarke in her embrace, and before Clarke could relax and try not to be so stiff, the hug was already over.  
Octavia put a red plastic cup in her hand and shortly afterwards she tipped off her own drink in one gulp.  
"Thanks," Clarke mimicked her and swallowed the burning liquid. "Who mixed it together, there's a lot more vodka than coke in there," she laughed.  
Octavia shrugged and winked at her mischievously.  
"Uhh, thank you for the invitation, I have not come out of the house for a while."  
Compassionately, Octavia looked at Clarke. "I can imagine. Bellamy was no different.  
I had to literally drag him to get him here. I finally lured him with promise of pizza. "  
Clarke chuckled slightly and felt uncomfortable. "Well, somehow my appetite completely vanished so I don’t eat a lot these days.“  
"It's completely normal, and I'm really sorry for what happened, I don’t know what I would do if something is going to happen to Nyilah’s, she’s practically my other half."  
"That was Lexa for me, too ..." Clarke whispered, but Octavia had not heard her through the loud background music.  
"There's alcohol in the kitchen, you're probably sick of all the sympathy, so today you'll be distracted and hopefully have some fun."  
"Thank you". As if that would be so easy.  
Clarke was still standing at the entrance to the apartment and a painful silence spread between her and Octavia.  
"I'm going to dance again, because from today on I'm allowed to legally drink alcohol everywhere in the world," Octavia winked at her and stroked a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead.   
"But if you need me and want to talk, then I'm here for you, okay?"  
Clarke smiled and as Octavia joined the dancers again, she called after her. "By the way, congratulations!", But Octavia was no longer visible.  
Undecided, Clarke stood there and chewed on her lip so hard that it hurt.  
She felt guilty because the people here were there to have fun and now she arrived here with her sadness. Quickly she turned to the kitchen to find the liquid that she knew would help her a bit.  
Surprisingly, the small kitchen was empty. Often the kitchen turned out to be a gathering place for party guests to discuss or philosophize if they had consumed enough alcohol already; but this time Clarke had the small room to herself. She stepped deeper into the room and locked the door. She needed a little time alone. She took a bottle of whiskey that was so close to the edge of the table that she was afraid it would fall down at any moment and turn to thousands of pieces.

Clarke sat down on the floor, leaning her head against the dishwasher and staring into space, drinking again and again straight from the bottle. She wanted to feel the pleasant fog and feel the whiskey go to her head, making it difficult for her to organize her thoughts. She sighed. Her mother probably had not imagined that when she said she should come out of the house again. The party noise whirred in the background and Clarke pulled her knees against her upper body and bobbed to the beat of the music. She hoped it would not be long before she felt something. She used to handle a lot of drinks, but then about a year ago she started taking the antidepressant sertraline because she had been diagnosed with Borderline Disorder, and the drug made her drunk much faster. It was therefore forbidden to drink alcohol as a consumer of antidepressants. Perhaps the doctors were afraid she would throw herself in front of a train at a thoughtless moment. Clarke pictured her cut bloody body on a platform, wondering if her family would even be able to identify her. But Clarke shook the thought away quickly; she did not want to think about suicide again. Lexa would not have wanted that. Looking at the bottle she realized that she'd been drinking more than she thought, and glancing at the clock told her that 15 minutes had passed since she'd entered the kitchen. A dissociation was funny. You felt nothing and everything was in the background and felt unreal; At the same time, the sounds were way too loud and in the event of a dissociation they always made her flinch. The concept of time then did not exist in that period. It could feel like 10 seconds or 10 hours or both at the same time.

Clarke realized that she was about to dissociate once more, and downed the last of the bottle without thinking. She just wanted to forget.  
Someone opened the door. A drunken couple staggered into the room, a tangle of arms, legs and mouths confused with each other. The blond girl giggled and the boy groaned. Kissing substance.  
'I should go,' Clarke thought, but some strange force held her to the ground.  
The boy slammed the door without looking back and jerked the girl on the kitchen table, shoving the low-cut shirt on one side to expose the girl’s shoulder and bit into it. The girl gasped and rolled her eyes in pleasure, so that almost only the white was visible. Clarke heard the girl hastily open the boy's belt buckle, trembling with impatience and anticipation.  
Clarke did not dare to get up. She could not take her eyes off the two of them and feared that when she walked out, the two of them would hear her.  
When the guy finally slipped his hand under the girl's pants, Clarke jumped up and fled out of the room. Why didn’t she leave earlier?  
She was hot and she had to go outside to get some fresh air. She needed a cigarette.  
Clarke knew that Octavia had a small balcony, but she needed more space; besides, she would feel too watched on the balcony. Clarke hurried toward the front door and fled out of the apartment. She did not want to wait for the elevator and not be locked in a small room, she just wanted to get away.  
For that reason, she ran down the entire staircase until she finally reached the ground floor. She hoped fervently that the couple in the kitchen had been too busy to notice her, and also that no one else at the party had noticed her escape.  
If she was going home now, her mother would ask her what had happened and Clarke did not want to talk to her mother right now.  
She pushed open the front door to the building and let out a breath of relief as the cold night air whipped her face. There was a rotten bank next to the door and Clarke sat down quickly. She needed it, and if she had a wet spot on her pants, she did not care.  
With her trembling hands, she reached into her jacket pockets for her Malboro pack and lighter. She needed 5 attempts until the cigarette finally burned.  
Relieved, Clarke took a deep draft and leaned back. No car was left in front of the building and it was so quiet that Clarke heard her own breath the loudest.  
The world around her blurred a little and her head felt light. Clarke smiled; finally the whiskey had done something.  
Just as Clarke relaxed, she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye.  
Bellamy broke away from the shadows where he had previously leaned against the wall of the house.  
Clarke winced. "Are you following me?"  
"I live here", he had his hands buried in his pockets and stared at her.  
His intense look made her shudder. He had a bottle in his hand, just like at the funeral, but this time it was Vodka Gorbachkov.  
As he sat down beside her, Clarke let out a rattling sound, took another deep drag from her cigarette, and wordlessly took the bottle from his hand.  
"I think by now we're mutating into alcoholics," Bellamy said.  
"Do not worry, I've been that before," Clarke yawned and put the bottleneck to her lips.  
"Why are you out here?" He asked.  
"I can return the same question", she just did not feel like talking.  
Bellamy's face turned to the sky and he was silent for a few seconds.  
"It seems so hypocritical for me to be happy, everyone is waiting for you to get over it and they're scared that I'll spoil their mood, like I’ll be getting over it after such a short time," he laughed bitterly.  
Clarke nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. People gave their sympathy but secretly were happy that such a thing didn’t happen to some of their loved ones.  
Her own mother looked at her like a ticking time bomb and she could see fear in her eyes every day. Clarke had already tried to committ suicide when she was fifteen, and now Abby was worried that the attempt would be repeated.  
Clarke thought about the university she was going to, and knew that nothing would ever be the same. Soon the holidays were over and she had to go back, although she was not ready for it yet.  
Fear crept under her skin, tingled, and she wanted to get a way out of her body. She felt the panic attack slowly rise to the surface and just knew that she could not allow herself to break down here. Clarke had always been the strong person who never showed her weaknessess so that people thought that a bad grade, those ugly words, that particular event would leave her cold and emotionless. It was true that Clarke could close up well in front of others and to break down only on her own at home, where nobody could see her. And now, all people did not know what to do with her, as she had now turned out to be one of the weak ones due to Lexa's death.  
Clarke shook the cigarette on the dirty floor, shivering, and she knew she needed to get rid of her energy in another way.  
She was completely dizzy with alcohol, and she clasped the wooden back of the bench with one hand, turning her knuckles all white.  
"Are you okay?" Bellamy frowned and pulled her out of her trance with his voice.  
She got up with shaky legs, approached the wall of the house, and paced up and down. Bellamy followed her.  
Clarke thought of the couple in the kitchen and suddenly knew what would make her feel better - at least in the short term. She did not want to think about the long-term consequences, but just feel and forget. She looked at Bellamy.  
The heat quickly spread like wildfire between her thighs.  
"Are you doing me a favor?", She chewed on her lip again. She knew how to get rid of the pent-up fear.  
„Depends on what it is," Bellamy answered harshly.  
His voice cut through the thread that had held her back and without letting him finish, she approached him slowly. Bellamy looked confused as she clenched a hand in his denim and looked him in the eye. Clarke could see exactly when knowledge was forming in his eyes and his eyes went almost black. He cleared his throat. „Sure. I’m a very helpful person.“  
„Shut up," Clarke said, shoving him firmly against the wall and pressing her lips to his. His lips were warm and soft, fitting perfectly to hers.  
Bellamy opened his mouth, either in surprise or lust, she was not sure, and she followed his action, so that their tongues could intertwine.  
She pressed her body tightly to his, so she felt as he started to respond to her kiss. Bellamy pressed closer against her and as his hardness hit her soft spot, she felt the heat spreading down there and the desire hit her like a white flash.  
Bellamy groaned at her mouth and she gasped. His mouth still tasted of the bitter alcohol and made her tongue burn in a positive way. His hands ruffled her hair and under normal circumstances she would have been annoyed, but her hair had only been combed through her briefly and the slight pain was like a welcome gift for her.  
His hands ran over her shoulders and upper arms, causing her to press closer to him. She had to feel it. She had to feel anything but the emptiness with which she had left Lexa's death. She did not want to think about the consequences, but simply switch off from reality for a moment and be filled with positive emotions and feelings. She grabbed his pants with her fingers and fumbled with his belt buckle, determined to remove the layers between herself and Bellamy. He exhaled with a sharp gasp and stopped Clarke.  
„We won’t do that now, Clarke“, his voice was hoarse and he was breathing heavily.  
"Why not?", She stubbornly answered and kept trying to open his pants.  
He gently took her hands in his.  
"First, we both had something to drink,“ he pointedly nodded in the direction of the glass bottle still standing on the bench.  
"Second, we are both emotionally unstable since-"  
"And third?" Clarke interrupted him and closed her eyes in pain. She did not want Bellamy to utter the next words.  
"It sounded like there was going to be a third?"  
Bellamy sighed, releasing her hands so that they hung parallel to her hips again, and closed his belt buckle.  
"See you, Clarke," with these words he turned and walked in the darkness of the night in an unknown direction. Away from her.  
Stunned, she stood there unable to believe what she had just done. She swallowed. Self-hatred and guilt threatened to eat her from within.  
"Fuck," Clarke slapped her sweaty and dirty palms in front of her eyes and sank to the floor. Then she puked her soul out and tried to form into a small ball so she could vanish.  
Clarke had just lost Lexa and now she was already trying to fuck someone else, especially Lexa’s best friend. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.", Her Heart ached and she tasted the remains of stomach acid in her mouth.  
"What's wrong with me, dammit ?!", she buried her long fingernails in the skin of her arm, so tight that it was bleeding, and thought of Lexa.  
Then she went home without turning around, took a shower and tried to wash the dirt off.  
And the self-hatred.  
But this one remained,  
no matter  
how  
hard  
she  
scrubbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry?


	4. Home

Clarke found the list a week later. She had not been able to enter her and Lexa's apartment before, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to fall asleep, having to think of the apartment again and again.  
Because of that Clarke Griffin sat in her car at 4 o'clock in the morning and a little later stood at her front door.  
When she looked at the dirty doormat and the shoes still standing next to it, she swallowed hard. On the doormat was a pug who was smoking a cigar and looked at her in confusion. Underneath stood the words "Welcome Home," and Clarke quickly figured that she didn’t want to read that again anytime soon. She planned to throw it away in the near future. This was not her home anymore. A home was always associated with one person and Clarke had lost that particular person.  
As she shoved her front door key into the lock, turned it around and opened the door, the creaking of the door broke the deafening silence in the stairwell.  
Before she could change her mind, Clarke entered the apartment and closed the door behind her. Darkness enveloped her and she had to search for the light switch by touching the wall to be able to turn on the lights. When she found the switch, she quickly closed her eyes as the light suddenly blinded her. Clarke clenched her fists, opened her eyes, and looked around. The kitchen was still where it was supposed to be, though there were still dirty pots and pans in the sink, the smell of mold wafting to her nostrils. The sunflower on the dresser had wilted it’s head hung low.  
The clock in form of an apple on the wall was still working  
and time ran and ran and ran and life went on.  
Everything looked like she and Lexa had just left the house. How could an apartment look like life and neglect at the same time?  
Clarke dropped her red purse on the bright parquet floor and tentatively stepped deeper into the living room. The glass-topped coffee table still held her ashtray, full of crushed smoldering cigarettes and ashes.  
The sofa surface was pressed down slightly, as if someone just had slept on it. Clarke remembered that she and Lexa had been lying on the sofa together on their last night, and had finally fallen asleep during a documentary about Bonnie and Clyde. Clarke's hand in Lexa's soft hair. Lexa's fingers on her slightly open lips. And her slight smile, her real smile, where her eyes beamed. Clarke would never see that smile again and knowing that, it hit her like a truck.  
Suddenly Clarke's legs failed and buckled under her. She fell onto the sofa and dug her face deep into the velvety surface, angled her legs and clawed her fingernails into one of the pillows. Then she cried and cried and cried until there were no tears left; she felt drained and empty and a deep, endless wave of fatigue and exhaustion rolled over her. Her eyelids closed and she fell asleep instantly. With the smell of Lexa's perfume in her nose and the ticking of the ever-running clock in the background.  
It was a dreamless, uncomfortable sleep; but at least she slept through and was not awakened by her own cries, as in the nights of the past weeks.  
Sleep enveloped her in a warm blanket and gave her a sense of security.

 

Clarke was awakened again by the ringing of her cellphone. Still half asleep, she answered the call and was suddenly confronted with her mother's upset voice. "Clarke ?! For God's sake, what did you think ?! Where are you, I was worried; I thought you ... you have - "  
Her mother barely paused to catch her breath. "Killed me? No, don’t worry, I'm fine. I'm sorry that you were scared. I didn’t want to burden you. "  
Clarke clearly remembered her mother's cries telling her that she was just a burden to the family and that she would throw her out. At that time, her mother did not believe in depression, and she thought Clarke was just lazy.  
At the age of fifteen, Clarke had researched the Internet on how other people's parents reacted to the news, and she had read only positive reactions. So she summoned up her courage and asked her mother if she were allowed to go see a therapist. Her mother had then turned to her and shouted at her and repeated again and again that she could not handle Clarke any longer and that she already had enough problems herself. Clarke knew her mother loved her, but she was also prone to exaggerated emotional outbursts, so Clarke assumed that the mental disorders were somehow genetic in the family. Her therapist had told her that her mother probably just responded the way she did, because she had been overwhelmed with the situation and was worried about her only daughter. The older Clarke became, the more she realized how little difference the age of a person made. As a child, she always considered her parents as perfect. As the most beautiful. As the smartest. As the strongest. But back then she was wrong.  
By her first and only three-month stay at the age of 18, she had learned that firsthand.  
Every age was represented on her ward from 18 years to 60 years and nevertheless she got along with most of them. Her best friend was mid-50, a narcissist named Martin. She have had hours of philosophical discussions with him; but later her relationship with him became poisonous.  
He got angry when she hugged someone else or took a cigarette from someone who was not him. He made hints of wanting to kiss her and that was what scared her the most.  
She felt safe, because she was only 18 and older, but as long as she was over 18, anyone could have any sexual intentions in secret, because it was legal.  
"Do not say that, you're not a burden to me, don’t you know?" her mother said in a low voice.  
Did she know that? Only now did Clarke realize she was sweating. She had just fallen asleep on the sofa, wearing her clothes from the day before. These were now sticking to her body, giving Clarke a feverish feeling and the urge to have a quick shower.  
"I know, Mum, do not worry okay, I'm in my apartment, I wanted to clean up a bit and take some of my things.“  
"Should I come and help you, honey?" Clarke shook her head. Then she remembered that her mother could not see her over the phone. "No need, but thank you Mum, I have to do it on my own, but I'm trying to be back to dinner this evening."  
"Okay." Without another word, Clarke hung up and frowned down at the battery of her cell phone. 2%. Great. Clarke hoped that she could find her old charging cable in this mess, but first she needed to shower.  
The white bathroom floor was cold under her feet and Clarke clutched her bare breasts shivering. She turned on the heater and hoped that it would heat the room fast enough so that when she left the shower she would not feel like she was suddenly in an ice desert. She avoided looking in the bathroom mirror as she was in the bathroom.  
The last few weeks she barely ate anything and certainly had lost a few pounds.  
Lexa had always loved her feminine curves, had stroked her skin, traced the outline of her body as if it were a rare piece of art; that was why Clarke could not bear to see her prominent ribs.  
But it was hard not to lose weight when she lost all sorts of appetite.  
She entered the narrow shower stall and smiled as she thought of it.  
How she and Lexa had tried several times to have sex in here and failed miserably.  
Once Lexa had slipped on the slippery floor and the next time they tried Clarke started having a cramp in her thigh. She really should start working out more.  
As she turned the shower button, an icy stream of water met her face, and in surprise, Clarke slammed against the glass wall of the shower.  
She hesitantly stepped back under the beam and forced herself to not turn the water warm.  
So she felt the most, felt alive again, and the throbbing headache caused by the icy chill reminded her to be real. Existent. Firm Matter. She had survived. Lexa did not.  
After she had washed her hair with Lexa's jasmine-scented shampoo, she carefully stroked her nipples and pinched it slightly in the middle. A wave of lust rolled over her and she felt slightly guilty that she was doing this. But she missed Lexa's tender touch in her most vulnerable places and longed for human contact. She closed her eyes and imagined Lexa perched on the floor between her legs, stroking her clit with her hot tongue. Clarke imagined her to feel her hot breath down there, where she wanted her to be the most, moaned and bit her lower lip relish, as she reached with her fingers between her thighs. She slipped one and then two fingers into her hot center, leaned her head against the shower screen and groaned. Her moaning echoed in the bathroom and suddenly Clarke realized what she was doing. It felt like she had betrayed Lexa and her doing seemed almost macabre to her. Her girlfriend was dead and still Clarke was touching herself by thinking about her.  
Was that wrong? Clarke did not know, but in retrospect it felt pretty wrong.  
Although Clarkes body resisted, she pulled her fingers out. Her body immediately felt the loss of the sense of fullness. Clarke sank to the floor and washed her fingers under the shower jet, which she did not even feel anymore.  
Then she was shaken with weeping cramps, wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth. Back and forth.  
Not even 15 minutes later, she found the list. A crumpled lined paper in her hand, which crackled slightly as she unfolded it.


End file.
